


Staring Through the Glass

by VerySleepy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerySleepy/pseuds/VerySleepy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Voldemort has finally been defeated, and the survivors are still mourning the dead and treating the wounded when Hermione, wandering aimlessly through Hogwarts Castle, discovers all is not as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring Through the Glass

It had been the longest day of Hermione Granger's life.

She had awakened at dawn to help with final preparations to break in to Gringotts. She was already tired long before the Battle of Hogwarts began in earnest at midnight. By the time the fighting ended, it was well into the next morning, and she was filthy, bruised, and emotionally exhausted as well.

She was also, for the moment, homeless. Standing in the Great Hall amidst the dazed, the wounded, and the dead, she realized there wasn't really anywhere in particular for her to go. She didn't even have a bed to call her own.

Harry, of course, then appeared and dragged her and Ron off to the Headmaster's office to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Hermione was operating on willpower alone, but she could never say no to Harry, not since the Halloween almost seven years before when he'd saved her from a troll.

He had been her best friend from then on. Except for vacations, they were always in each other's company, eight or ten hours a day. They ate together, attended the same classes, studied together, practiced dueling together, and later, when the war restarted in earnest, they hid and fought together. Hermione was an only child, but Harry was her brother in all but name — closer than a real brother would have been, she thought.

Now, Harry wanted her and Ron to be there with him at the end of the ending, and so of course she staggered along with him to see it through.

Afterwards, he decided he wanted to sleep in Gryffindor Tower, and neither she nor Ron had better ideas, so off they went.

She couldn't remember much of that walk later, except for impressions of all the rubble that they had to navigate around. She was too preoccupied by Harry filling them in on the last details of what he had learned from Snape, as well as the vision he had of Dumbledore while he hovered momentarily between life and death in the forest.

Snape — terrible, wonderful Snape — had survived near-certain doom with a precious vial of phoenix tears and a drought of living death. He had been brought back to the castle, barely breathing, not that long before they left the Great Hall, and Harry had seemed so happy to see him alive — he had raced to his side immediately, which had surprised a good many people.

Apparently, Dumbledore's portrait had warned Snape of what was to come just before he left to meet Voldemort, but the painting was evasive when Hermione asked how it had known what to do.

It was odd, but no weirder than the way Bellatrix Lestrange had been cut in two by a curse from nowhere just as Hermione had felt herself near to losing their duel, or the way that Fenrir Greyback had turned up on the castle wall impaled on a silver pike that no one took credit for conjuring. They had been altogether too lucky in the battle, but her mind was shutting down and she was in no position to try to puzzle it out without some rest.

When Hermione finally stumbled into the Gryffindor seventh year girls' dormitory (and she literally did stumble — she had never seen the room before and did not notice the small step at the entrance), it was all she could do to find a bed that didn't seem to be claimed, kick off her shoes, and lie down. She had no reserves left even to take off her clothing, and she was asleep within moments.

• • •

Hermione woke up in the early evening clutching a vaguely familiar teddy bear and feeling more than a little disoriented. It took her many seconds to remember where she was and what had happened.

She did not notice the blood stains until she stood up and looked in a mirror. She wasn't even sure whose blood it was. That didn't help her mood, either.

Even after taking a desperately needed shower and putting on a change of clothing from her purse, she still felt oddly detached and alienated.

Hermione thought that she should be happy. All things considered, the outcome was the best one could have hoped for. Harry was safe and the threat to him was gone. Some of the defenders had died in the battle, but surprisingly few, and fewer still were people she knew well.

So why did she feel so empty?

She walked down the stairs and into the common room. The only one there was Parvati, who was reading.

“Hey, Hermione! You're awake at last!” she said, cheerfully. “I guess you really needed your sleep. You were out cold for ten hours, you know.”

“Yesterday took a lot out of me,” said Hermione.

“I can imagine, what with everything that happened. _The Prophet_ has a special afternoon edition out,” Parvati said, pointing at the newspaper in her lap. “It says you broke into Gringotts using a dragon yesterday morning. Is that true? Where did you get a dragon from, anyway?”

“We didn't bring it. It was guarding the vaults. We just stole it to help us escape. Flew it all the way to Scotland, actually.”

Parvati's eyes widened.

“So that part isn't just tabloid crap, you actually broke into Gringotts? And then you got out by riding a dragon? _For real_?”

“For real,” said Hermione.

“Wow,” said Parvati. “Anyway, when I came up in the morning you were asleep on Lavender's bed. Didn't have the heart to wake you and point you at a spare. Lav's in the hospital wing anyway, she didn't need it.”

“That's whose teddy bear that was!”

“Of course,” smiled Parvati.

“Is she okay?”

“Oh yeah,” said Parvati. “She just fell off a balcony during the fight and broke some bones. I visited her a little while ago. I think she would be out already but Pomfrey is too backlogged to finish treating her. It's packed down there — they've got maybe thirty patients to deal with. I think they had to conjure extra beds. It's calmed down, though. The place was a madhouse this morning when I helped bring Lav over there from the Great Hall.”

“Where's everyone else?” asked Hermione. “The tower seems empty.”

“It sort of is. Lots who evacuated haven't come back yet, and most of the ones who fought seem to be getting drunk in Hogsmeade or are out enjoying the grounds. Good weather for outdoor snogging, you know.”

“Snogging?”

“I think something about danger makes people randy,” said Parvati with a bit of a leer. “Take Nev and Luna. They seemed to be trying to suck each others insides out through their mouths this morning. Oh, and Harry vanished a couple of hours ago with Ginny. They looked _really_ happy to see each other, if you get my meaning.”

Hermione felt her heart sink, but after a moment's pause she forced herself to ignore it. _He deserves some happiness,_ she told herself.

“So, if everyone's out celebrating, why are you up here?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, I was out too, but I got tired,” Parvati said, with a wink. “I only slept a couple of hours. Just got back a little while ago. Thought I'd find someplace quiet, maybe take a nap, but then the paper came in and I started to read all about what we did yesterday.” She smiled broadly. “According to _The Prophet_ , my memory of last night is all wrong.”

“Not surprised,” said Hermione. “It isn't a quality paper like _The Quibbler_.”

Parvati laughed aloud.

“Anyway, now that you're awake, shouldn't you be off finding Ron?”

“Ron?”

“Don't be coy, Hermione. Seamus saw you two kissing last night just before all hell broke lose.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess we did.”

“You _guess_?”

“I'm a little out of sorts right now. Still feeling very foggy.”

“Maybe you need something to eat. When was your last meal?”

“Yesterday morning? Around dawn maybe?” said Hermione.

“Merlin, you haven't eaten for a day and a half?” asked Parvati.

“I was pretty busy. There was this dragon, and then there was this battle...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Anyway, the house elves have a bunch of cold stuff set out in the Great Hall for whoever's hungry. You should go down and have some before you drop.”

“I probably should. See you later, Parvati.”

Hermione turned to leave. As she did, Parvati called out after her.

“Hey, Hermione, mind where you walk. The corridors are still a mess from the fighting.”

• • •

Traversing the castle was indeed a bit of a challenge. Many staircases had been destroyed, and there were gaping holes everywhere in the walls, floors, and ceilings.

It seemed better, though, than she vaguely remembered from the morning. She had a recollection of needing to walk around a fallen beam and over a pile of rubble to get past the clock tower, and those were gone now. She guessed the house elves or others had already begun repairs.

When Hermione arrived at the Great Hall, it was no longer the makeshift hospital she had left that morning, but it was still in disarray. There were indeed trays of sandwiches and drinks near the entrance of the room on conjured tables. A number of people were milling about and eating, but none were friends of hers, and there was nowhere to sit, so after wolfing down some food, Hermione decided to move on.

It was as she left the Hall that realized that she had no idea where to go next. She had no responsibilities, no appointments, nowhere in particular to be. She thought of seeking out Harry, but from what Parvati said, maybe it would be better not to, at least not for a while.

 _Everything that's truly mine in the world is in my handbag,_ she thought, somewhat grimly. Even her bed had been borrowed.

For lack of another plan, she wandered the castle aimlessly for about an hour, trying to be useful by casting “reparo” here and there as she encountered minor damage to the building that the spell could fix.

It gave her something to do.

Eventually, she found herself walking down a deserted corridor past several classrooms. The door to one was ajar, and she noticed the tell-tale muffling of a hastily cast silencing charm. When she glanced within, she saw Harry and Ginny pressed up against a wall, snogging passionately.

The sight was not really unexpected, but it none the less filled her with misery. Hermione stared for a few moments, her heart twisting in her chest.

 _So, this is it,_ she thought.

Her mission to keep Harry safe and help him defeat Voldemort was over. Likely her school days were as well. She hadn't thought much about what that would mean, but here before her was the evidence.

There would be no more classes with Harry, no more studying with him in the common room, no more long walks with him on the Hogwarts grounds, no more hiding with him in the woods or desperately thinking about ways to find horcruxes. He was no longer hers. Soon, they would leave the castle and get on with their lives.

Eventually, Harry would marry Ginny and Hermione would see them here and there at dinners and holidays. Doubtless they would send her Christmas cards, the sort that featured wizarding portraits of their children — small red-haired children wearing sweaters knitted by Molly Weasley, smiling and waving at her from the photographs.

Her throat contracted and her eyes started to well up. She turned away and began to run.

However, she barely made it five feet before she collided with someone who wasn't there. They both fell to the floor in a heap.

Hermione pointed her wand and cast “homenum revelio” and suddenly found herself face to face with Argus Filch, who was aiming a wand right at her.

They paused for a moment in mutual shock.

“Obliviate”, he whispered, and Hermione felt the spell batter against the magic of her body wards. She tried casting a stunner at him, but he blocked it with amazing speed and then darkness descended upon her.

• • •

When she came to, the first thing Hermione noticed was Filch, standing in front of her.

“Awake now?” he asked. “Mind if we have a little chat?”

She looked about groggily. She hadn't been in it much, but she recognized Filch's office. His fiercely loyal cat, Mrs. Norris, sat on a nearby table and was giving her a strange look.

Hermione herself was bound to a chair.

As unhappy as she had been to think her adventure was over, she hadn't actually wanted it to continue, either. The ropes tying her were tight and uncomfortable, and Hermione felt a tingling in one of her legs, as well as a multiplying collection of itches that she couldn't scratch.

 _Be calm,_ Hermione thought. _Think before speaking._

She looked him over. It certainly looked like Filch, but there was one obvious problem with that conclusion.

“Filch is a squib,” she said, “and you aren't. Who are you?”

Filch's cat hissed at her.

“Mrs. Norris doesn't like what you're implying, Miss Granger. Surely she would know me after all these years.”

That wasn't precisely a denial, of course. She also noticed that he spoke with Filch's voice but not with his mannerisms and distinctive accent.

However, that train of thought was soon was pushed to the side when Hermione recognized what he held in his right hand.

It was the Elder Wand.

This could not be good.

How could have it, let alone wield it, if he hadn't fought and defeated Harry, perhaps immediately after stunning her?

Filch might have been a spy for Voldemort all along, and now he could be taking vengeance. Her mind started racing with a thousand horrible scenarios, all featuring Harry already dead or dying.

 _Idiot,_ Hermione thought to herself. _You can't help him if you lose your head. Stay calm. Focus. Figure out what's happened._

She breathed deeply.

“What do you want with me?” she asked.

He looked at her oddly, like he was trying to memorize her face. She couldn't make out what it could mean.

“I want nothing of you,” he said. “I assure you that once I've removed your memories of me from today that I'll let you go. However, I don't seem to be able to do that. Why can't I obliviate you, Miss Granger?”

 _At least the body wards worked,_ she thought. _He won't be able to make me forget. Keep calm. You have to help Harry. That's all that matters._

“I have no reason to tell you,” said Hermione.

“Actually, you have excellent reasons if you think about it. Surely you would prefer for me to obliviate you than find another way to keep you from talking, hrm?”

The threat wasn't even particularly veiled. He was willing to use violence. That explained the Elder Wand. He must have already harmed Harry, and the thought burned in her mind. She was tied up and had no way of fighting back. She needed to stall for time, but she couldn't think of anything to say.

“It will be more pleasant for everyone if you just tell me why. Then I can make you forget seeing me and you can be on your way.”

 _He almost made that sound sincere,_ she thought. _Stall. Stall._

“How did you notice that it didn't work when you tried?”

“Because I'm good at what I do. Now tell me or I'll figure it out on my own.”

He hadn't given her anything more to work with. The best she could think of was to stay silent and not risk giving anything away.

The only sound in the room for several seconds was the ticking of a clock on the mantle over the fireplace.

“Very well. Your way, then,” he said, closing the distance between them and placing his left hand at the side of her head. She flinched from his touch, but he maintained contact. “My apologies, Miss Granger.”

_He almost seemed sincere when he said that, too._

He then pointed the dark wand at her and said “legilimens.”

Hermione knew some occlumency — she had practiced it while on the run with Harry for most of the last year. Had her mind been defenseless, she might not have noticed what was happening, but instead she felt enormous discomfort as her memories were torn from her with a force she could not effectively counter.

He rifled quickly through her recent experiences, and she saw herself betrayed by her own thoughts about the body wards that she'd had during their brief fight outside the classroom door. Those led him to the pained feelings she was having just before that, and then to association chains tracing through older memories, threads that lead back years.

It felt eternal, but it was probably only a matter of seconds, and then, just as swiftly as it began, the intrusion ended, and along with it, the awful, painful pressure in her mind.

It didn't matter, though. She knew she had lost. He would do whatever he wanted, probably kill her if he couldn't overcome the magic preserving her memories, and there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

Worse still, she still had no idea what had become of Harry.

She didn't know what she expected Filch to do next, but it certainly was not what followed.

He stepped backwards and sat down in a chair facing her.

“You're in love with him” said Filch, with an odd, creaking tone to his voice. He looked away and seemed almost... wistful? “Why didn't you ever tell him?”

This was not a question she was expecting at all. The complete change of subject surprised Hermione enough that she answered without thinking.

“I've only kissed him the once, last night. I don't really know how I feel about him...”

“Not Weasley!” he hissed reprovingly, like a teacher correcting a particularly stupid student. “Harry Potter. You're in love with him. I could see that, but I couldn't see everything, not without hurting you more. Why haven't you told him?”

“It's not like that!” she said more sharply than she intended. “I know sometimes people think it, but he's just a very close friend, that's all.”

“I saw your mind. Denying it is pointless.”

“I do love him, but not that way. Harry's a brother to me.”

“Most women don't want to sleep with their brothers!”

His comment made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable than the ropes did, and they were far too tight. She also desperately wanted to know if Harry had come to harm, so she tried changing the subject.

“How can you be wielding the Elder Wand?”

“You noticed that,” he said, turning his head away. “That was stupid of me. I should have realized you might.”

“It can only be used by someone who defeated its last owner. What have you done to Harry?” she said, her voice betraying more emotion than she wanted.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I've done nothing to him.”

“Liar! You couldn't have that wand otherwise, let alone use it. You've hurt him!” said Hermione. It was all too much for her, and suddenly the dam broke and she started crying.

“You're not crying because you're worried about a brother,” Filch said softly.

He got up and walked up to her again, and looked right into her eyes. It felt intrusive and overly familiar. “I've lied about nothing,” he said, still quietly, as though he meant to be reassuring. “I haven't harmed him.”

“Prove that he's safe!”

“I have no good way to do that right now, but so far as I know he's come to no harm since I stunned you outside that classroom.”

He turned his eyes from her and took a step away.

“You also know of no way to remove the enchantment you have put on yourself to preserve your memory.”

“No, I don't,” she said through her tears. “You should know, you looked in my head. It wouldn't be any use if it was easy to get rid of.”

“I wasn't asking a question.”

Filch, or whomever he was, moved back to his chair and sat staring into space.

 _I have to stop it. I can't help anyone if I'm a wreck,_ thought Hermione. She got control of her emotions after only a minute or so, but it was a struggle.

Meanwhile, Filch had started to watch her intently again. It felt vaguely creepy, though his expression was benign. Then he broke the silence.

“It is risky to have no way to alter a memory. Sometimes there are things one needs to forget. But, anyway, it seems I can't make _you_ forget anything. So, Miss Granger, what would you advise?”

“What?”

“What should I do about you?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You're said to be a brilliant thinker, aren't you?”

“But I have no reason to help you,” said Hermione.

“Of course you do. You know that even with the limited information you have.”

She thought for a moment.

“You're worried I'll tell people that you're not a squib.”

“That's how this began, at least.”

“And you say you wish me no harm.”

“None,” he said, sounding almost offended at the idea. If he was acting, he was faking very well.

“And you say you haven't harmed Harry. Do you wish him harm?”

“No, not at all.”

“How about our friends and...”

“I don't want to harm _anyone_ you care about,” he interrupted. “I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I just need you to keep quiet about me.”

 _Could he be telling the truth?_ she wondered. _But then why would he conceal his power, and what was he doing with the Elder Wand? Why was he skulking about near Harry while disillusioned?_

Still, if he went along with it...

“If you'll swear on your magic that you'll tell me the truth, and you tell me enough that I can believe you aren't a threat to me or the people I care about, I will swear on my magic to keep your secrets.”

He stared off for a bit, apparently thinking it through.

“Alright.”

They squabbled for a few minutes over the wording of their oaths, but eventually reached an accord.

“Give me my wand back so that I can swear my part,” said Hermione.

“Don't try anything,” he said, placing it in her right hand, then read aloud.

“Conditional upon my swearing upon my magic to answer your questions today truthfully, fully and to your satisfaction, and to do you no harm while so engaged, do you in turn swear upon your magic that you will neither attack me nor flee; that you will listen peaceably to what I have to say in its entirety; and that if you are then satisfied that I am not a threat to you, your friends and loved ones, that you will forever keep secret what I have told you and never use the information against me?”

“I do,” she said, and as she did, glowing white tendrils emerged from her wand and wrapped her arm.

He quickly took her wand back, and read the rest.

“I swear upon my magic that I will speak truthfully and fully to you this day, answering all questions to your satisfaction and concealing nothing I believe to be of consequence, and will do you no harm while so engaged.” His magic flared so brightly about his arm that Hermione had to squint for a moment.

“Could you untie me now, please?” she said. “It hurts.”

He pointed his wand and whispered “Finite”, and the ropes binding her vanished.

“Thank you,” she said, as she stood up and stretched. One of her legs had fallen asleep and she was having trouble putting weight on it, and her wrists ached.

He looked abashed.

“Sorry about that. I probably pushed too much magic into the incarcerous. Do you need help?”

“No!” she said, more forcefully than she intended. “Just tell me, are you actually Argus Filch?”

“Not going to wait even a moment to let me offer you some tea?”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. The real Argus Filch was indeed a squib. He died of what seems to have been a heart attack nine years ago. He had no real friends or family, and I needed an identity, something that would let me move around Hogwarts freely. Dumbledore agreed it would be okay if I started impersonating him, so I took over his life. Albus and I buried the real Filch in the cemetery at Hogsmeade but put the grave under Fidelius. The headstone is rather nice — I carved it myself. When I die, the charm has been set to break so that his grave won't remain unknown forever. I've been using an artifact called the Ring of Gyges to look like him — polyjuice would have been far too inconvenient, and as it happens, I learned that Herodotus was wrong when he described its properties—”

“You're avoiding my question,” she interrupted.

He sighed. “Of course I am.”

“Well? Tell me who you are already.”

“You're not going to believe me. Remember that I swore on my magic to tell you the truth.”

“Try me.”

“I'm going to take a second oath just so you're sure.”

“Stop stalling,” she said, glaring at him.

He held the Elder Wand in his right hand, and said, “I swear on my life and my magic that I am Harry James Potter, born in Godric's Hollow to James and Lily Potter on July 31st, 1980.” As he spoke, strands of white hot light enveloped his right arm, and then brightened even further as he finished. If anything, it was harder to watch than his last oath.

 _No..._ she thought.

Hermione couldn't believe it. There was no way he could be lying. And yet, how could it possibly be true? It went round and round and made no sense.

“How...?” she said.

“It's a long story.”

She was briefly at a loss for words.

“If it's true, show me your real face,” she said quietly.

He was silent for a moment.

“Okay.” he said.

He raised his right hand and removed a ring from it that she hadn't previously noticed. As it left his finger, his appearance smoothly transformed.

He looked almost like the Harry she knew, only significantly older, though with wizards it was hard to distinguish ages precisely. He appeared... more mature? Distinguished? The Harry she knew was still something of a gawky teenager — this Harry looked as though he'd filled out and become more at home in his skin.

There was a shadow of coarse stubble across his face, as though he hadn't shaved for a few days. He cut quite a figure. If anything, he was even more handsome.

She felt the same surge of longing and sadness that sometimes overcame her when she watched her own Harry from afar, seeing something she wanted and couldn't have. Then she realized she was staring and quickly tore her eyes away.

“Is that what you really look like?”

“Yes, this is my real face. I don't think anyone has seen it in a very long time. I sometimes even forget that I don't really look like Filch.”

“But if you're Harry Potter, then who is...”

“The young man you love? He's also Harry Potter, but he isn't precisely the same Harry Potter as me.”

“But how...”

“Time travel. A lot of it, in fact, and a couple of different kinds.”

“Is that why you don't look seventeen?”

“I'm not. I'm somewhere in my late thirties. I haven't tried to calculate it recently — it gets complicated.”

She felt entirely at sea. None of this made sense, none of it at all.

“I... I think I should sit down again.”

“By all means. Would you like some tea, Hermione? I hope I can still call you Hermione?”

“I... um... tea would be lovely, yes.”

He walked to a nearby cupboard and pulled out a pot, some cups, and other associated tea paraphernalia. With a wave of his wand he filled the teapot with boiling water.

Hermione was having difficulty absorbing the reality of the situation. If anything, her mind was racing even more than when she had believed him to be a mortal threat. She felt like she knew him, but that was ridiculous — by his own admission, this man was a stranger. Or was he?

“If you're a time traveler, does that mean that the Harry I know will eventually become you?”

“No, he won't,” said Harry, putting a cup of tea in her hands. She was distracted momentarily by his forearms. This Harry was much more powerfully built than the Harry she knew.

“Sorry I have no milk handy, I know how you hate your tea without it. Normally I'd ask a house elf to fetch some but I don't want them to see me like this, or to know that we're meeting at all.”

“Please don't change the subject. What do you mean, no, he won't?”

He took a cup for himself and sat down facing her.

His messy hair fell across his forehead and he brushed it out of his eyes. It was a small gesture, but she knew it well. She had seen her own Harry do it a dozen times a day for all the years she had known him. This Harry seemed so like him, so familiar to her, and yet he wasn't.

He looked straight at her as he began to explain.

“It turns out there are different ways you can go back in time. A time turner will take you into your own past, but with that method you can't change anything that already happened — it can only create stable time loops, though as you yourself know from third year, those have their uses.

“I know another means, however — one that permits you to change the past.

“Now, let's say that you used that method and went back in time. There would be two of you present in the world — the younger you and the older you who had traveled back — just like with the time turner.

“Say that the older you interferes with the course of events. Now the older you remembers things happening differently from before you went back in time, memories the younger you never has. He isn't exactly the same as the younger you any more. You will never become the same person — even if the younger you eventually goes back, your pasts are different, your memories are different. They'll never be the same.

“Say the older you now removes the cause that would make the younger you eventually travel back. The younger version of you will never go back at all. There would always be two of you in the world, with divergent pasts. If you brought anything back with you, say a wand, there would be two of them in the world.”

Hermione frowned, reasoning through it.

“That's not possible,” she said after thinking for a minute. “It would create a paradox. You would have effects without causes, things that seemingly appeared from nowhere, like the second wand.”

“Only if you assume that there is only one world line and that cause and effect are confined within it. There are many worlds. The second you, the second wand — they came from another and entirely different future. If you could step outside the system entirely, and look at all the different histories at once, cause and effect are still there, but they cross between the worlds.

“Anyway, for your purposes I'm from the future of a parallel universe. Your Harry is my younger twin, not precisely me. I remember a different past than he does, at least after age ten or so. My life has diverged from his, and he'll never become me.”

He reached for the pot and poured some tea into his own cup.

“This is a lot to take in,” she said.

Hermione pondered for a minute or so. It was fascinating, to be sure, but she couldn't stay distracted. There were more important things to discuss. Before she could collect her thoughts, though, he interrupted the silence.

“I could get you a firewhiskey if you prefer that to the tea. I know you hate tea without the milk, my apologies for having none on hand. I could get you something else, too, of course, I have—”

“Stop it.”

“Sorry,” he said, almost sheepishly. He even had the same body language as her own Harry, though he seemed less at ease around her.

“Anyway,” he said, “it would be bad if everyone found out you can meddle with the past. People with dark designs would be doing it all the time. So, it would be for the best if no one else ever learns about me. The only other person who knew was Dumbledore, but he would never betray a secret, and besides, he's gone now.”

He took a sip of his tea and went on.

“I promise I have no ill intentions towards you or my time-twin or any of your friends. I just wanted to avoid having anyone learn that I'm here, so when you saw me and then I couldn't obliviate you, well, things escalated quickly.

“I only started reading your mind to try to find out how to get you to forget. I'm sorry I looked at more than that, but I couldn't help noticing some things, and then, well, you can guess the rest. I apologize for all of this — I didn't set out to frighten or upset you or anything like that.”

He paused for a moment.

“You do believe me, don't you?” he asked gently. “You understand I would never hurt you intentionally?”

“I have to,” she said. “You swore on your magic. You still haven't explained, though. Why did you go back in time?”

“I wanted to change some things that happened in my past,” he said. “Why don't we stop there, though. We agreed that I would tell you enough for you to be sure that I'm not a threat, and then that would trigger your oath to me. You know that now.

“Besides, you've wasted too much time here with me already — you should be out there telling that young man of yours that you love him before things get too messy with Ginny Weasley.”

The reminder put a lump in her throat. She had let it slip from her mind with all the discussion of time travel, but it was back now.

“I'm not going to tell him,” she said tremulously. “It won't do any good.”

“Why not?”

“Because he loves Ginny! Didn't you see that in my memory?”

“I wasn't able to see everything. Your occlumency isn't bad, you know. I would have had to hurt you even more to see the rest. Anyway, how can you know he loves Ginny?”

“Because he told me so over and over! Because he spent half the time we were camping in the forest staring at her dot on the Marauder's Map, pining away for her and wondering what she was doing! We got drunk a couple of times and all he could talk about was Ginny, Ginny, Ginny!”

Hermione had started crying again. “It tore my heart out. I lied to myself and said he was just a brother to me and that I wanted Ron anyway, but you were right, it isn't true, but there's no point to admitting it anyway. He doesn't love me back. He never will.”

“I'm... I'm so sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I shouldn't have pressed on that. Please don't cry.”

“How could you not know, anyway?” she asked. “You're him. You had to have lived through most of the same things. Didn't you love your Ginny too?”

“I'm _not_ him. I explained that. Things were different for me — I never really knew Ginny. She died in my second year. I missed saving her in the Chamber of Secrets by a matter of seconds. I was so close, but it wasn't enough. I only managed to kill Tom that time by luck, too.”

“Is that why you came back? To save her?”

“Sort of. A lot of people I cared about died before the end. Everyone, really.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea, and Hermione gradually calmed down again, though her voice remained a bit unsteady.

“So tell me what happened already. Why did you come back?”

“I... I don't want to get into it. You already know that I'm not a threat to you. That's all you need.”

“You swore to answer all my questions until I'm satisfied.”

“I shouldn't have agreed to that. You were always so curious,” he said wistfully.

“But you did and you took an oath. So what happened?”

He paused for a few seconds, lost in thought.

“This is really hard for me, you know. I don't know how to tell it well.”

“Just talk.”

He put down his teacup.

“We didn't know about the horcruxes as early as you found out. That was something big I changed — I told Dumbledore as soon as I returned.

“Anyway, it... it didn't end this way. It took years longer to beat him, and something like three quarters of the magical community died. Every friend I ever had was gone. I... I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt so empty and alone and...”

And he stopped speaking. It was obvious to Hermione that it hurt him to talk about it, but she had to know.

“And?” she said.

He buried his head in his hands.

“Please don't,” he said. It was nearly a whimper.

“And?” she asked softly.

He looked up at her. His eyes seemed haunted.

“I missed my Hermione, okay? The Hermione that doesn't exist any more. The Hermione I can never be with again because she's gone, dead forever in a parallel universe.”

“You... you loved me?”

“Her,” he said. He looked right into her eyes. His face was a mask of fresh pain, though the wound was very old.

“I'm not your Harry. My Hermione isn't you. You seem the same. All the little Hermione sensors in my brain light up when I look at you. You're just like I remember her from the summer when she was killed. You look the same, you speak the same way, you move like she did, I can't really tell you apart, but you're not her. You're not her.

“We're strangers, you and I. We've barely even spoken before in our lives. She lived a different life in a different place and she's dead.”

Hermione couldn't look at his eyes any more. It was too much.

“You loved her,” she said, quite softly.

“So much. It still hurts and it's been half my lifetime.

“Anyway, when everything was over, I remembered her Time Turner from third year and I started thinking that maybe I could somehow go back and save her and then we could be together again. I had nothing else to do, so I worked on it for years. I learned all about Time Turners — I've even built some — but you can't change history that way, you can't even go back more than half a day. But then I figured out how to do what I wanted — how to go back years and change things. I was half mad and desperate and I wanted it to work so much that I ignored the truth.”

“What truth?” she asked.

He struggled to find the right words.

“You know about the resurrection stone?”

“Yes. What does that have to do with this?”

“I was just as stupid as Cadmus Peverell, only I inverted his mistake. When you bring someone back with the resurrection stone, they're not really there — it's just a shadow of the person who died and you can't really be with them.

“Going back... going back is _being_ the shadow. I got to see everyone alive again, but it wasn't like I could reclaim my friends. They're your Harry's friends, your Harry's loved ones, not mine.

“I'm the hungry man outside of the bakery window with my face pressed up against the glass looking in at all the pastry I can never have. I could watch over all of you and be your guardian angel, I could interfere in secret to keep you safe, to change things so you survived, but it isn't the same.

“I couldn't even tell any of you without endangering the whole world. The one person I could actually talk to was Albus, and he's dead.”

Harry looked away.

“This is the first real conversation I've had with anyone in over a year,” he said. “Mostly my only company is Mrs. Norris.”

Hermione wasn't sure what the right thing to say was, or even if there was one, so she just tried her best. She walked over to him and took his hand.

“I'm so sorry, Harry.”

“Don't be,” he said. “I brought this on myself.”

He stood up, and for a moment, clasped her hand with both of his.

“At least I managed to protect you, eh?” he said, with a lopsided grin.

He let go and walked over to his liquor cabinet.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like a firewhiskey, Hermione? I nick only the best from the castle cellar.”

She considered it for a moment.

“I suppose one wouldn't cause any harm.”

• • •

It wasn't until almost two weeks later, just after he agreed to go to Australia with her to help her find her parents, that Hermione finally worked up the nerve and kissed him.


End file.
